Home of the brave
by AKKON
Summary: What would life be like if Lara and Kurtis were to live under one roof? Hell, of course. Short and silly.
1. Chapter 1

**Basically, a silly piece meant as a homage to TR2 & 3 fantastic training levels. NO plot, NO adventure, and very little happening at all. Originally part of a series about my three favourite characters doing what I imagine them to be best at: annoying the hell out of each other.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. I don't own the location. And I don't own the US national anthem. Nor do I want to. (I'd like to own the pistols, but that's a different story...)**

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**"What am I going to do with my cold, uneventful life, if not make yours hell?"** Kurtis Trent, in Partners in Crime**, by Acid-Rush.**

With kind permission from its author.

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**HOME OF THE BRAVE**

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When she hits the final yards, the invisible metronome in her head that's controlling her progress starts running havoc with excitement. She is, she's going to, she's doing it, she's finally beating herself!

She shoots a quick crooked smile at Winston, standing stiff and resigned in his combat attire at the edge of the field. Snatching the pistols off the tray while still running, bringing them up in mid-jump…

One, two, three, switch target, same again, one by one down they go as she advances, precise and lethal. Down goes her butler behind his amazing bulletproof tea tray. She's never been that quick, that perfect before! Overcome with boldness, she even does a little curtsy before diving into the final sprint, a wild cry of triumph escaping her mouth as the flags go up. Victory…!

Or so she thought.

Mouth agape she stares, flabbergasted, her eyes darting from the flags to Winston's horrified face and back to the offending sight, and for a moment the only sound in the garden is the merry flapping in the breeze of the proud _stars 'n' stripes_. And then, a loud crackle of static comes from the house, before unseen loudspeakers burst out in an apotheosis of sound.

" _Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,  
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?..."_

She spins to face the house, murder written all over her face.

"KUUURTISS!" she screams, and Winston drops his tray.

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**Thanks to Jordy for proofreading, and for the amazing bulletproof tray bit (although it's Winston who should be thanking you...)**


	2. Chapter 2

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**HOME OF THE BRAVE **

**ACT II

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Still rubbing his eyes, Winston shuffles into the kitchen, to find a morose-faced Kurtis sitting at the table, staring at the empty jar in front of him as if he were trying to make it fill up by sheer force of will.

"You're up early, Sir."

"So I am," Kurtis grunts. "And it's Kurtis, man. Plain Kurtis."

"Would you care for a nice cup of tea?"

"No. I'd care for a nice cup of coffee, but there's none left."

Winston clucks sympathetically. "She's not buying any until you've worked up the cost of replacing that windowpane."

"It wasn't even _me_ who shot it."

"You ought to be glad she shot the window and not _you_, Sir. Er, Kurtis."

"Yeah, and I was standing right behind it. How come you Brits are believed to have a great sense of humour? She certainly don't have one…" Kurtis scowls at the jar and stirs on his chair. "Damn. My back is killin' me…"

Winston decides not to comment on this topic, since he knows why the American's been spending the last few nights on the library couch.

"Winston… Can I borrow a couple of bucks from you?"

"You owe me seventy six pounds already."

"_Seventy six?_! It was only sixty nine yesterday!"

"Yes. Before you added…" Winston searches the pockets of his dressing gown for the incriminating piece of evidence, "...'Fags' on the groceries list."

"Fags are only six pounds!"

"The additional pound is for not telling her you'd done so," Winston reminds him.

"Man, you're ten times worse than her." Pushing back his chair, Kurtis gets up and heads for the door, shaking his head.

"Mr. Tr… Kurtis. There's something you could do. To gain back her favor…"

"And that'd be?" a suspicious Kurtis asks, throwing the butler a wary look over his shoulder.

"You could get up on the roof and clean the eaves, for example. They're badly clogged."

"I'm scared of heights."

"From the west wing roof, it's only a short drop to her balcony…" Winston muses, stirring milk into his mug and smiling shrewdly.

Kurtis frowns, considering this. "She won't let me in through the door, why would she welcome me through the balcony?"

"You could try something romantic. Maybe sing her something."

"A serenade?" Kurtis asks, looking dubious. "Nah, better not. It's only seven thirty."

"Try Shakespeare. She's got a weakness for it. I bet you she'll bite."

"How much?" an eager Kurtis jumps at the idea, his face lighting up with hope.

"A fiver. And I'll throw in a jar of Maxwell House on top if she's let you move back into the bedroom by tonight…"

"Deal."

"Come on, then. I'll lend you my tea tray. You know, just in case…"

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With a sigh of satisfaction, Lara sinks back into the pillows, spreading the morning paper on top of her legs. She's barely read past the headlines when a sluggish noise on the roof makes her look up. Something that appears to be a rubbish bag full of wet leaves lands with a thud on the balcony, before a pair of feet follow, dangling on the upper half of her window. Her initial surprise is soon replaced by a cunning narrowing of the eyes when he lets himself drop down, missing the rail by inches, and knocking over a flower pot in the process. 

"Morning," he says, or rather, shouts, smiling sheepishly on the other side of the glass.

She gives a slight nod, before returning her attention to the paper.

"Your gutters are spot-clean now," he adds, full of hope, gesturing towards the rubbish bag.

"Hmm."

"Am I still in the doghouse?"

"You are on the balcony," she points out, unable to suppress a grin.

"Can I come in? You won't believe some of the stuff I've found up there…"

"No."

Kurtis ponders this briefly, wondering if she means the stuff he's found, or the coming in part. "Please?"

"No."

He scratches his head and looks over the rail at the garden, far below. Way too far below to jump down. He shouldn't have listened to Winston. Shaking his head, he weighs his options. At least, it looks like he's after winning himself five pounds. Fuck the coffee. Thinking of Winston reminds him of something, so he roots through his pockets until coming upon the hurriedly scribbled scrap of paper. He reads quickly through it before straightening in what he hopes is a convincing Laurence Olivier-ish stance.

"But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun…!"

"Good Grief…" she folds the paper and puts it aside, rolling her eyes.

"Arise, fair sun..." he checks his notes surreptitiously, "...and kill the envious moon..."

"Enough, Kurtis." Surrendering, she gets up and unlocks the balcony door. "You'll never make it to the West End. Give it up." With two jumps she's back on the bed, pulling the covers up quickly.

"Shit, it's freezing. Thanks." He stumbles into the room, shivering. That's so long to the fiver, then. But maybe he'll still get a coffee after all. Slumping on the edge of the bed, he gives the duvet a longing glance. "Can I slide in there as well? I can't feel my toes…"

"No."

She opens the paper again, ignoring his disappointed expression.

"No?"

"No."

"Okay."

He sighs, staring at his hands. No point remarking on what a job it was to shove all those loudspeakers back in place.

"Any chance I could borrow some money off you?"

"What for?" she asks, her eyes never leaving the newspaper.

"Winston wants me to drive down to town and get a few things. I'd pay for them myself, you know, but I have to get to a cash machine first…"

Without comment, she signals to the bedside table's drawer. He quickly retrieves a ten pound note before she changes her mind. "Thanks."

With a last mournful glance at the bed, he gets up and heads for the door. Maybe he could try humming God Save the Queen to improve the mood, but then, it might be not such a good idea to remind her what caused her to lock him out in the first place. "See you later, then."

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"And…?" Lara asks, sneaking into the kitchen. 

"Nothing yet." Winston whispers back, pointing at the door that leads to the garage. "He's just about to go out."

Together they wait, holding their breath. And are rewarded by a sudden, very loud thump.

"He's fainted."

Winston raises his hand, gesturing her to lower her voice.

"He has," Lara insists, barely able to control her giggles. "Giving that bike a Union Jack paint-job was a terrific idea."

"Thank me no thanks…" Winston winks knowingly, before Kurtis' scream interrupts him.

"AAAGGHHYOUBITCHOUTOFHELL!"

"See? He's not fainted."

"I'd better be off, then," says Lara, hurrying to the door.

"You owe me a fiver," Winston calls after her.

**FINIS... for now

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**_"But soft! what light through yonder window breaks?..." _and_ "Thank me no thanks, nor proud me no prouds",_ from William Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet'**

**Thanks again to Jordy for all the help, and for making me laugh so much.**

**And, last but not least... HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LARA!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I was going to leave it at that, really. But this fic just writes itself.**

**I have to apologize for the somewhat cryptic "insider jokes" in this one, seeing that only a few people will know what I'm on about. I still hope it's funny enough...**

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**HOME OF THE BRAVE**

**Act III**

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"Open the door!" 

"Hah, no, I don't think so," is her muffled reply.

Kurtis very quickly counts to ten, and tries again.

"Open. That. Door. Croft. Now!" He feels rather pleased with himself. No one could blame him for lack-of-self-control. But she'll be dangling head-down from that window in, let's say, five seconds.

"Oh no, Sir, don't do that." Winston speaks at his back right as he's lifting his arm towards the door. "That door is a unique piece of good old craftsmanship. It can't be easily replaced, Sir."

"Kurtis!" he groans, momentarily distracted. There's a certain wisdom in the old man's advice. His debts are growing with alarming speed.

"Oh, yes, I keep forgetting. Kurtis." A meek Winston concedes, with a little bow of his head.

"OK." He draws a deep breath and turns to the butler. "_You_ tell her to open that door. I only want to have a word with her."

"Lara, dear. There's a gentleman here that wants a word with you," Winston chimes, putting deliberate emphasis on the word 'gentleman'.

"Tell him to go away!" she shouts back.

"Milady's engaged right now. We'll get back to you as soon as possible," the butler announces, solemnly facing Kurtis again. "Sir."

"Shiiit!" Tugging at his hair in disbelief, he lets himself slide down the door until he's sitting on the floor. "How did I get myself into this!"

Someone snorts behind the door.

"You know what she did?" Kurtis hisses, looking up at Winston. "She painted… my… bike!"

"Well, well, isn't that nice of her…" Distractedly, Winston picks up the big box he was carrying to the kitchen before the current events made him lose his thread. "Milady," he addresses the closed door again, "I think the gentleman here only wants to express his gratitude." He gives Kurtis a beatific smile and resumes his journey.

"My ass," Kurtis mutters under his breath, and in that moment the door flies open and he falls flat on his back into the room, banging his head hard against the floor.

"I'm so glad you liked it, darling," she says in her best husky, sex-bomb-of-the-forties voice.

Kurtis blinks at the dangerous looking fire poker she's brandishing- "Hey! HEY!" -and rolls himself over just in time to save his skull from further injuries. "You are some mad bitch, you know?" and speedily crawls on all fours to a safer distance.

"Uh-huh," she grins from ear to ear, raising the poker again.

"Ow, Crooooft!" he ducks, covering his head, but instead of smashing his head, she grabs him roughly and plants a big sloppy kiss on it.

"I knew you'd love it…" Man, she's purring, and somehow he's finding it hard to concentrate on his former aim. He makes a feeble attempt to kiss back, but the slippery nightmare of a woman has already backed to a far corner of the room, and is pointing the poker at something on the balcony.

"You forgot your bag, Santa."

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"Where is he?" 

"Outside."

Lara squints through the window, but there's no Kurtis to be seen, near or far. "I can't see him."

Winston points in the direction of the front garden, without lifting his eyes from his laptop. If she presses her head sideways to the glass, she can just catch a glimpse of a sweaty Kurtis, fighting the lawnmower. He looks very, very pissed off.

She bursts out laughing. "My, Winston, what's he doing with that prehistoric thing? Didn't you tell him we've got a brand new electric one somewhere…?"

The butler shrugs. "I thought I'd spare him the sight of that motorbike again…"

The lawnmower hits a rock hidden in the grass and jerks. Freed of human control, it makes a sudden attempt to run over Kurtis' foot. Lara thinks she'll have to give him a point for quick reflexes.

Losing interest, she starts ripping the cardboard box on the kitchen's counter, while at the same time trying to look over the butler's shoulder at the computer screen. "_Dear Katie_,'" she reads, "_I have this really bad problem_… You are turning into quite a success, aren't you…"

"Hmm," is Winston's non-committal reply.

"At this rate you'll soon own that villa in Ibiza you're always talking about…"

"Bahamas. I've changed my mind."

"Well, you'll certainly save yourself a lot of taxes. But what am I going to do without you?" she pouts.

"Oh, it'll still be a while. And by then, he'll be fit for the job," says Winston, meaning the cursing man outside.

Intrigued, she leans over his shoulder and reads aloud… "_I was browsing the web a few days ago and I discovered this picture of a naked man…_Well, well, will you look at that. Who sent that one?"

"'Mightily distressed,'" answers the butler, checking the signature. "It's a very interesting one."

"_He was standing in front of a window and pl_…"

"Read the end. It's the best part," Winston tells Lara, all ten fingers suspended over the keyboard.

"_Katie, the window curtains were familiar. They are my grandmother's! My grandma is seventy eight; the idea of her taking pictures of young naked men in her house is so sickening. Oh, I feel so embarrassed. What should I do?_"

"Ask her for her gran's phone number," Lara suggests.

"Already have done," Winston says, rubbing his hands.

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"Time for a little refreshment!" 

Kurtis watches her cross the lawn, swinging her hips in that maddening way she has. Making an effort to appear indifferent, he critically inspects the glass against the sunlight before he drowns the water in two gulps.He figures it had to be the hottest day in English history when Winston talked him into cutting the grass.

"Oh, darling, you're doing a beautiful job. But look, you've overlooked that tiny patch over there…"

He frowns, and she gives him such a dazzling smile, that against his better judgement, he feels himself softening fast.

"Such a lovely day, isn't it. Lucky, that, now that the bedroom feels so draughty…"

Kurtis' face turns an interesting shade of purple. "Had you let go of that poker instead of pulling back…"

"…had you not tried to tackle me while I was standing so close to something breakable…" she shoots back, and sighs."You're a real danger to my windows…"

His face turns even longer, and she laughs. Rising on tiptoes, she ruffles his hair affectionately. "But I'm not mad at you anymore."

He'd like to point out two things here: first, that he seriously doubts she's forgiven him, and second, that he's hardly the one needing forgiveness, since it was her doing that got the window smashed, but this disturbing combination of heat, freshly cut grass and too-close-standing-a-Lara is proving to be more than any red-blooded guy can take.

"How are you feeling?" she breathes against his ear, gathering a drop of sweat with her fingertip.

"Hot." The answer comes so promptly over his lips that even he is taken by surprise.

"I thought so," she laughs, slapping away his hands, which all of a sudden refuse to return to the lawnmower's handles. "When you're finished here, come to the kitchen. I've got a surprise for you."

"For me?" he echoes her, slightly taken aback. It can't be anything good.

"A coffee machine. One of those shiny things with millions of buttons. Latte, espresso, cappuccino, whatever your heart desires. It'll probably even fan your brow if you ask nicely." She collects the glass that's fallen to the ground, mercifully refraining from breaking. "That is, if you're able to decode the manual. It's about a hundred pages long…"

"Huh. Well. Thanks. Wow!" he stammers in quick succession. She winks, looking coyly up through averted eyelashes.

"Lara!" Winston calls from inside the house. "The glazier is on the phone. He's afraid the unusual size may change the prize from his initial estimation…"

Kurtis moans.

"Coming!" she shouts back, looking smug, and turns to go.

"Hey!" he calls after her, suddenly remembering something. "Did you know that he's got a job as an agony aunt for some tabloid?"

"Winston?"

He nods, enthusiastic. By now he's starting to suspect the old fella might be a wolf in sheep's clothing.

"Oh, yes. He'd do anything for some extra cash, Winston. But in fact, it was my idea…" she chirrups merrily. "Come on, now. If you finish quickly, you can still join me at the pool…" Casting a seductive glance over her shoulder, she blows him a kiss.

An open-mouthed Kurtis stares at her until she disappears into the house, grinning like a fool. The minute the door has closed, he falls on his knees and raises his arms towards heaven. "Thank you Thank you Thank you my Lord!"

He jumps back to his feet and is about to turn on the lawnmower again when an unsettling image of very early this morning slowly starts shaping itself before his inner eye. Himself, a huge banner proclaiming "Boston Tea-Party, 2006", and every single one of her expensive _Royal Darjeeling First Flush_ tea crates, floating in the pool.

"Oh shit…"

_**Finis, at least until Lara decides on her revenge**_

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**And now, the credits: Thanks Jordy (and Smithers, for the brow-fanning coffee machine), thanks reviewers, and thanks to FB, who unwittingly gave me new inspiration with her, hmm, 'suggestive' fanart.**

**And, well... sorry, Grandma.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Just a thing I want to explain before I let you read this: I'm a corner bug fan. And there _is _an invisible platform in TR3. Jordy says she's never been on that one, so it might be just my game that has it. But I've checked, and it's definitely there. From it you can jump onto a red platform on your left and then attempt to jump to the roof. Most likely you'll be plummeting to a sure death, unless Winston brings you a ladder.**

**Btw, this is the last HotB chapter. There's an epilogue coming, though, but for now, that's all. Thanks for all the reviews and hope you enjoy this one!**

**HOME OF THE BRAVE**

**ACT IV**

These stairs are murder. _Murder_. Winston grunts, stopping to massage his lower back, and wonders if it isn't about time he asked Lara to have a lift installed. But he suspects he knows what her answer will be, namely, "Certainly, as long as you pay for it. _I_ can't afford it." With a sigh, he makes a mental note to ask his estate agent to verify that that lovely pink Bahamas villa is all on ground level.

The door to the attic is wide open. He puts his head in and scans the shadows. Someone is up there, shoving things around.

"Lara?"

"Yes, it's me."

"What are you doing?"

It's just a rhetorical question, since it's pretty obvious that she's trying to lift the top of one crate by means of the expertly used crowbar. When she finally succeeds, she climbs into the crate and starts tossing out armfuls of straw, much to Winston's dismay. The shower of straw stops all of a sudden, and from the depths of the crate, she exclaims "A-ha…"

Winston opens his mouth to comment on the procedure, sneezes, retrieves his handkerchief and blows his nose. His eyes fly wide open when a cylinder of dark metal flies out of the crate, landing at his feet with a dull thud. "Oh dear…"

"He threw all the tea into the swimming pool!"

"He…? God help us!" Winston clasps a hand to his heart. "I thought I could hear strange noises, early this morning…"

Her head shoots out of the crate like a Jack-in-the-box, and over the rim, throws him the kind of icy glare that would freeze the blood of anyone blessed with less phlegm than the old butler.

"I thought it was mice! They're all over the place!" he defends himself. "My dear, are you sure about this? That thing makes really big holes…"

"This situation calls for a drastic solution. No one, NO ONE, certainly no bloody cheeky Yank will lay a finger on my tea and escape unscathed!" She flings more metallic pieces out of the box, and jumping out, starts assembling the scattered parts, a determined look on her face.

Winston sneezes again into his handkerchief. Purposefully, she strides past him, the rocket-launcher cradled amorously on the crook of her arm. In her wake, a little mouse scampers down the stairs, headed for the nearest exit. _When the rats start leaving the sinking ship_… Winston muses to himself. "Shall I ring the glazier and tell him to drop around later?" he ventures.

"I won't hit the window this time," she replies darkly.

He takes a prim step aside to allow a whole family of mice to rush past him. "Want to bet?"

XXX

He adjusts his helmet, strapping it securely under his chin, and studies the empty garden. The lawnmower lies abandoned beside a rose bush, glinting in the sun. No sign of Kurtis. "Alas, poor Yorick…" Winston sighs, and starts patrolling the assault-course, holding a hand to his chest to prevent the tea tray from sliding out of his camouflage shirt.

"Psst, Winston!"

He looks up, squinting. Kurtis is sprawled prone, a worried look on his face, holding on for dear life to the edge of… nothing. Thin air.

"Sir!" a scandalized Winston reproaches, "What on earth are you doing up there!"

"Don't ask me! I meant to climb up that platform over there…" Kurtis motions with his head towards the monkey bars, "… jumped up and…" he makes a helpless gesture, "Winston, help me. I'm standing on nothing!"

"Lying on nothing," Winston corrects, shading his eyes to admire the view. "Not the worst choice of a hiding place at the present time, I must admit…"

"She mad?"

"Noo-oo," the butler says, sounding doubtful.

"She is!"

"Oh well," he concedes, "This be madness, yet there is method in't…"

"How do I get down now?"

"Jump, I suppose."

"No way, man. I'll break my goddam neck…"

Winston considers the problem, "… if I had to choose between a broken neck and my head being blown out by a rocket launcher…"

"Oh crap. I'm in hell!"

"Not yet, Sir, not yet."

"Can't you calm her down or something?"

"I don't know," he shakes slowly his head, "she's in quite a state…"

"What do you want?" Kurtis pleads, desperate. "The bike?"

"Hmm…" Winston tilts his head, thinking hard. Sure, he owns the quad bike already, but that Triumph should look classy. Somehow, he can picture himself arriving in a motorized Union Jack to pick up his date. He grins conspiratorially and nods. Kurtis quickly searches his pocket and drops his bike key at the butler's feet.

"Would you prefer a ladder or the tea tray?" Winston asks.

XXX

**KABOOOOOM!**

"Jesus!" Kurtis exclaims, his eyes darting towards the house. "What the hell was that!"

"What a shame…" Winston sighs again, following his glance. "That coffee machine was brand new…"

_**Finis, until Akkon finds the epilogue somewhere among her files**_

XXX

**"Alas, poor Yorick" and "This be madness, etc." -the bard again. This time, Hamlet.**

**For some reason, ffnet won't let me put a divider between the scenes, like I usually do. It shouldn't matter, but being the obsessive maniac I am, it's a good thing _I _don't own a rocket-launcher.**


	5. Chapter 5

_Croft Manor__, 15th of __July 2006_

_My Dearest__ Winston,_

_Thank you for the __picture you sent us, the house looks really lovely, and so pink! I cannot quite believe the size of your pool, and how wonderfully those Etruscan amphorae I fished out that time in the Aegean fit in the decorating scheme! And I must say I nearly shed a tear when I saw the replica of the fountain you have had built in your garden, complete with fish and all. I was so touched_ **(illegible)**_ still think about me –us- sometimes, and it brings back a lot of memories, since we had to have the original demolished (I hit it by mistake, I loved that fish, I really did, you know that)_

_We've had a drier__ than usual spring here, which is a true blessing considering _**(illegible)**_ missing part of the roof. Perhaps with some luck a dry summer will follow so the west wing will be habitable again by the time winter arrives._

_I've got mys__elf a new butler, since _**(illegible)**_ wasn't up to the job. Oh, I know I shouldn't hold it against him, minding the baby all day long isn't such an easy task, but after the initial difficulties he has quite grown into it._

_T__he butler's name is Toby, but we've changed it to Winston (honestly, what kind of a name was that, for a butler? Toby, no less!) but sadly, that's where the comparison ends; he couldn't hold a candle to you. He is absolutely useless, even though he looks a little bit like Charlton Heston (or maybe his dumbness is to stay in tune with the looks?). So I've told him to just stand by the fireplace and try to look like a butler, for heaven's sake, and I know I should be more strict, but what can you do these days, with the shortage of properly trained staff and all that._

**(illegible)**_ sends his apologies that he cannot yet enclose__ the cheque for 947,97 pounds as promised, since babysitting isn't particularly well remunerated, and then, you wouldn't believe the price of the _**(censored)**_ nappies here, it's a _**(censored)**_ shame._

_Give my regards to your gorgeous wife and see if you can hop over to a place called Paraiso in a couple of weeks. I'll let you know exactly when. According to my new researcher team, that's in Peru, although it looks more like Mexico, judging by the pictures. Maybe geography has changed since I last checked. Wherever it may be, we could still knock back a couple of tequilas and reminisce the good old times._

_All my love, L._

_PS: Would you mind terribly returning the Iris? I know I said you could take anything you wanted as a farewell present but (_**rest is illegible)**

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**"Hear it not Duncan; for it is a knell**

**that summons thee to Heaven or Hell!"**

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**(curtain falls...)**


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